


Sterling Sinner

by Aanya_Inure



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Assassin!Mikleo, Best Friends, Heldalf as Sorey's father, M/M, Palace, Prince!Sorey, Slight Dubious Content, Undercover, kingdom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 13:48:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aanya_Inure/pseuds/Aanya_Inure
Summary: He's beautiful, even splattered in blood.





	Sterling Sinner

He's beautiful, even splattered in blood.

The thought is a morbid one, Prince Sorey realizes, but he can't bring himself to care; even when that blood is from his own father.

The court room with it's tall windows and taller pillars, columns running parallel to one another in a uniformed path towards the empty throne; cascading moonlight shimmers across the marble flooring, spotlighting the sanguinary scene like a theater stage.

King Heldalf lays dead, wounds gaped and leaking, corpse growing cold, but Sorey only stares at the one who stands over the King. He's bathed in starlight, long periwinkle hair luminescent in the silver stream, with serpentine pupils blown wide on adrenaline and gaze tilted down to hide his eyes..

“You...were not supposed to see this, My Prince.”

The Prince takes a step closer, watching carefully the upset dip of those lashes.

Truthfully, the universe is playing quite the game with him. Sorey has always figured the day will come when his tyrannical father be dethroned or assassinated from his golden pedestal and silver goblets. 

He's just never assumed it'd be his best friend to do it.

The Royal Librarian's assistant whom he's cherished for three years now.

Yet the boy before him is a bit unfamiliar. Instead of the sophistication of his violet eyes Sorey has so often seen, there's a sort of accepted insanity in these. His pupils have stretched to ovals, and his usual attire has been replaced with black and silver garments; high neck, long sleeves, and cut shoulders.

But still Mikleo. Still beautiful. Still loved.

Sorey stares, stepping closer once more.

“You're a Seraph.”

“Was,” Mikleo corrects, sliding his dagger back into the sheathe at his thigh. “Many years ago I became what I am today. I'm neither pure nor tainted. Seraph nor Hellion. I exist between. Malevolence cannot touch me, a Shepherd cannot cure me.”

The Prince listens in rapt fascination, still approaching. He watches as his enclosing tightens the skin around that pale neck, the lithe figure before him tensing like a wild animal. Stopping within reach, green eyes drift to the body before them.

“So...he's really dead.”

Mikleo nods, fists clenched. “Yes, My Prince.”

Sorey echos the motion, missing the brush of his feather earrings with the motion. “That means I'll be King from now on.”

“Yes, My Prince.”

Brow furrowing, his eyes trace his friend carefully. _He knows I hate it when he calls me that._ And while the situation isn't ideal, the prince still finds himself upset that the other is standing there like Sorey is about to send him to the noose. Mikleo stays cautiously still, stare unable to meet emerald, and he's wishing Mikleo would hurry up and looks his way, so that Sorey may appreciate the eerie beauty in those eyes once more.

“Is that all you're going to say, Mikleo?” Raising his hand, he gently brushes his fingers along that fringe, marveling at the sparkle of the hidden sterling circlet.

A swallow tugs along a swan throat; a tremble rippling under porcelain skin at the tender touch. “Yes...My Prince.”

Sorey moves to repeat the motion only for the other to flinch away. He frowns.

“Mikleo,” he whispers, beckoning the other to turn. 

The beckon finally pulls his favorite gaze.

Juniper eyes catch the minuscule tremble of soft lips. They absorb the movement in rapt attention before fully gliding along the shadow of a sculpt jaw, up the slope of a nose, and to the amethysts ringed in long lashes. However, his analysis is interrupted as his best friend shrinks before him, slowly lowering himself to the marble floor at his feet. Gut curling unhappily at the sight, Mikleo kneels low, one knee forward.

“I obediently accept my fate, Your Highness,” he starts, voice quiet yet clear in the stillness of night. “Whether it be through the royal court's decree, or a command from Your Majesty himself-”

A soft _shing_ , a dagger set before the Monarch's feet.

Mikleo wets his lips, exhaling an uneven breath. Sorey hears. “I await my punishment, and assured death willingly...My...King.”

Sorey sucks in a tunnel of air, an angry weight pressing against his rib cage. He's as baffled as he is infatuated. Does his friend truly expect to be left to the hands of law? That Sorey will enforce an execution on his beloved head? _Absolutely not_. He swears to himself then that not a single blemish will ever bloom on that pale neck, save any mark from his own mouth. 

His words pass around the pressure at his chest, reaching the air in a tight tone. “You will obey whatever I ask or say of you. Can you swear this on Maotulus?”

The assassin curls into himself further, the movement minuscule but detected. “I swear on Maotulus, Your Majesty.”

“Then I have but one command.”

Mikleo holds his breath, cinching his eyes shut.

“Marry me.”

“...!” Head jerking up, the former seraph's entire face falls wide in disbelief. A strain starts behind his eyes. “W- _what_?”

Sorey, for all the flaws in such a setting, grins dotingly. His fingers fit themselves under that delicate chin, thumb tracing all the contours he so loves. “My command is that you marry me. I'm already a selfish King, see?” his smile crooks sideways, “I need you right by my side to keep me in line.”

“W-wh...? Bu-...” The strain at his eyes flows outward, and Mikleo is startled to see the world begin to blur. Not a single tear makes it to the ground though, as they're swept away by a warm hand. 

_I killed your father_ , Mikleo wants to say.

 _I pretended I was a farm boy before coming here as a royal librarian's assistant for three years, all just to take away your last living relative_ , he wants to scream.

 _Don't you wonder if I pretended our friendship at all?_ He wants to ask. _Don't you doubt me?_

_Don't you-_

“-hate me?” Mikleo trembles.

Sorey frowns. “Hate you?”

In one eager motion, the new King kneels as well. “Mikleo.” Ardently pushing his forehead against the other's, Sorey inhales, an internal swoon at the familiar scent of petrichor and jasmine. “Rule by my side.”

“But-”

“Stay with me.”

“W-”

“Be mine.” Gingerly taking the slight but skilled hands, the monarch guides them by a grip on the wrist to press both palms against his own chest. His smile is bright, but sheepish. “Just as I am already yours.”

Wide, wet eyes glance between the heartbeat beneath his fingers and the face of his King. And it's through the earnestness of those eyes that the assassin begins to laugh through his tears, a hand cupping to cover his lips. “You're an idiot!” he weeps joyfully, “you're such an idiot!”

Sorey smiles giddily. “Is that a yes?”  


His response reveals itself in a seal of lips. Two pairs of lips that don't leave each other for anything but air.

Behind them, fully ignored, a tall blonde in the form of a royal butler casually rids the palace grounds of the king's blood, carrying the corpse to his deceased Highness' royal room to be found in the morning; dead from sudden heart failure.

Mikleo clutches Sorey closely as he's swept away in strong arms to familiar quarters, making a mental note to thank his undercover colleague, Eizen, upon the suns rising. For now though, he has a King to court.

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't even know guys.


End file.
